Every morning hits me like a ton of bricks without the help of drugs or alcohol. They are unwelcoming and unrelenting, but worst of all, predictable, as they uncoil me from bed with the same whimpers of worry.
I see the day like the arcade game of Frogger, where I’m expected to navigate a river full of life-threatening obstacles such as sinking logs or ravenous crocodiles.
Every aspect of my life feels like an impossible hurdle and I’m teetering over the edge waiting to witness my own demise. Every closet in my apartment represents a hiding place for the most gruesome serial killers, every dark alleyway is an armed robber waiting for their perfect moment to press a fully-loaded gun into my temple or a freshly sharpened switchblade into my
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